


Like Candy

by moonrise31



Series: once, twice, and again until it's over [30]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: 5k words of sana simping for nayeon, F/F, mihyo if you squint, ot9 mentions of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrise31/pseuds/moonrise31
Summary: In which Nayeon and Sana slowly become NayeonandSana -- what this means exactly, they will discover together, later.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana
Series: once, twice, and again until it's over [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/935700
Comments: 8
Kudos: 207





	Like Candy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyclectic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyclectic/gifts).



> happy birthday, fi!! thanks always for your encouragement and kindness, and of course every one of the gorgeous words you write. enjoy your days off and eat some cake :D
> 
> a/n: prequel to "[Like Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248532)", but can be read on its own of course.

While reviewing for their first-ever round of university finals, Nayeon dozes off in textbook fashion: cheek planted firmly on top of her mess of highlighted notes and printed handouts. Sana has been suppressing snickers for the past five minutes as Nayeon steadily succumbed to the monotony of cramming, betraying the solemn promise she’d made just an hour or two before to make sure Nayeon stayed awake through their entire study session. 

It’s much more fun this way, though, to follow the movement of the hair that has fallen over Nayeon’s face, the strands fluttering softly with her breaths as the early afternoon sun streaming in through the library window washes their crimson color in a cozier hue. A few months earlier, Nayeon had dyed her hair in a bid to make the boldest statement possible upon finally escaping the clutches of their high school hell. She hadn’t intended it to be a permanent change; but the brightness fits Nayeon with a snugness that they all should have predicted long ago, and so Nayeon has kept up with the retouches even as she constantly asks opinions on other, less stand-offish colors.

The red had been Chaeyoung’s fault, really, when she’d uncapped her markers and drawn a different fruit on each of them during a lazy afternoon a few weeks before the older girls were due to graduate high school. Nayeon’s designation had been a bright pair of cherries, and Chaeyoung inked an apple onto the back of Sana’s hand not a minute later -- the color and shape, to Sana’s quiet satisfaction, seemingly made to match. 

Now, Sana thinks again of how the red suits Nayeon so well: a perfect expression of both the perpetual intensity in her gaze that can intimidate even her closest friends, and the fierce loyalty she fights with to protect those same precious people. And in the days before she inevitably recolors what has faded into softer rose garden shades, Sana revels in how Nayeon still manages to turn heads with nothing more than a casual hair flip and an easy smile, only to melt into openhearted laughter or childish whines when surrounded by those she loves most.

When Sana’s gaze finally frees itself from the spotlight the sun has shed on the crown of Nayeon’s head, she spies the small puddle slowly spreading from under Nayeon’s mouth to wash her carefully taken notes into a singular damp smudge. Sana can’t help but laugh, then, and reaches over to shake Nayeon awake. 

Nayeon sits up with a start, blinking furiously as she reaches up to detach the sheet of paper stuck to her face. “Did I fall asleep?”

“You did,” says Sana, giggling again as she offers a tissue. Nayeon stares at it for a moment before the implication finally dawns on her. She snatches the tissue and wipes at the corner of her mouth, the white contrasting against her rapidly flushing cheeks. When Nayeon sneaks a glance back at her a few seconds later, Sana only offers an affectionate grin, basking in the warmth that fills her heart and keeps her from looking away.

-

Two weeks later finds them all exam-free, and Sana is in the middle of the kitchen in the apartment she shares with Momo, stomping her feet and whining up a storm. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Don’t try to shift the blame.” Momo mirrors Sana’s exaggerated pout. “You can’t tell me there’s a two-for-one deal at the udon place and not expect me to go.”

Sana groans. “I’m not saying you can’t go. I’m just saying you can’t go _with us_.”

“Why not?” Momo asks innocently. “What’s so special about Nayeon-unnie that I can’t come with?”

Sana can only glare. But when that fails, she settles for huffing and crossing her arms.

“Look,” Momo says, voice shaking from her barely contained laughter as she walks over to pat Sana on the shoulder. “Next time you want to go on a date with her, maybe ask her out so that she knows it’s one.”

“I did ask her,” Sana whines, even though she’s already resigned to the fact that trying to keep Momo away from a good bowl of udon is a battle she will never win. “It’s not my fault you were eavesdropping.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Momo sings as she grabs her keys from the kitchen counter and heads for the door. “And now you know to keep your voice down if you don’t want me to hear from the other side of the apartment. Hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

Nayeon, for her part, doesn’t seem particularly fazed at the unexpected Momo-sized addition to their post-exams celebration -- it’s not uncommon among their friend group, after all, to pick up plus ones or twos on the way to invited outings. She also slides into the booth right next to Sana and joins her in flicking balled up pieces of napkin across the table at Momo’s noodle-stuffed cheeks, so the night isn’t a total loss.

To punctuate her revenge, Sana eats Momo’s entire yogurt stash the following day; Momo holds this against her as the number one reason why she refuses to be Sana’s wingwoman for any future Nayeon-related endeavors. This suits Sana just fine, because while she knows that she will always be just another one of countless admirers, she at least retains the privilege of having a place by Nayeon’s side perpetually reserved.

-

Surprisingly -- or perhaps not so much -- the rest of their friends from high school follow them to university. Still, the nine of them have split in more ways than Sana would have liked; she doesn’t even manage to see Momo at all on some days, despite the fact that they share an apartment. But they all do their best to work around it, passing the time between the few group gatherings they manage to coordinate each term by grabbing each other in twos and threes for lunch or coffee.

One of Nayeon’s various contributions to this effort is extending an open invitation to a weekly drama viewing session in the apartment that she rents with Jeongyeon. Of course, not everyone is partial to the cheesy dialogues and prolonged glances shared between actors of varying skill levels, so the group narrows down to Nayeon, Sana, Jihyo, and Tzuyu fairly early on. Then Jihyo gets pulled into spending two nights a week at gaming club meetings with Mina, and Tzuyu’s double major forces her to take evening classes for the next few semesters. 

Sana expects Nayeon to cancel the sessions since it’s just the two of them now, and Sana makes an admittedly poor fellow drama enthusiast when she can barely keep track of all of the names, much less the multiple intersecting love lines. But Nayeon doesn’t bring it up, and so Sana continues to knock on her door every Friday night.

A few sessions later, Nayeon says, “Our schedules seem to match up the best,” while accepting the bowl of popcorn Sana has spent ten tedious minutes preparing in the apartment’s tiny kitchenette -- while Nayeon couldn’t care less, Sana always makes sure to leave the area more than spotless, because hell hath no fury like Jeongyeon discovering that not all of the surfaces have been cleaned. “I’m glad,” Nayeon adds, almost like an afterthought. 

Sana responds with a beaming smile, not trusting her voice enough to reply out loud. But as she settles into her spot on the couch Nayeon’s parents had generously donated in the name of independent living, she internally thanks any and all higher powers for being able to continue spending as much time with Nayeon now as she spends with her own flatmate.

-

Four years after what Sana mentally refers to as The Noodle Incident, she and Nayeon, along with Jeongyeon and Momo, graduate as freshly minted adults. Jihyo and Mina soon follow, and a year after them, so do the three who still insist on being addressed as the School Meal Trio even months after they’ve stopped consuming the university’s suspicious dormitory food. 

Slowly but steadily, the nine of them find places in the various office buildings dotting the city: Nayeon gets a comfy position in real estate, while Sana makes do with a cubicle life wrestling an infinite horde of spreadsheets. Jeongyeon slots easily into place at her father’s restaurant, and Momo starts to make enough money as a head choreographer in a popular studio that she could move out of their apartment -- if she wanted to. Jihyo later joins Sana, while Mina enters a separate company, quickly working her way through promotion after promotion. Tzuyu throws herself straight into veterinary school, and no one is still completely sure what Dahyun and Chaeyoung have gotten themselves into -- but occasional hints will show up in the form of their names in the small print of the song or album artwork credits from titles topping Korea’s music charts.

Then Mina leaves for Japan. 

This, in turn, leaves Jihyo suspiciously quiet on nights when the rest of them are able to find time to get together and talk about how life has changed. Not having Mina with them is something that Sana knows they will all have to unpack eventually, but for now they make do with weekly video calls that occasionally fall through and a perpetually promised group trip to Tokyo that never quite gets around to being scheduled.

It’s even harder now to keep together, of course, in the face of conflicting overtimes and vacation days. But they soldier on, managing to keep Mina in their circle despite the ocean of distance. And some things do remain the same in spite of all else: grabbing coffee or meals with the few who are free whenever time permits, and Sana watching dramas with Nayeon a few times every week.

Nayeon has her own studio apartment now, and the couch sitting in its living room is unsullied by suspicious stains from the Im family dog or the food spills Nayeon always pins on her younger sister. As for the drama watching itself, Sana has come to appreciate a well-planned plot line or an appropriately cheesy romance. But if it ever occurs to Momo to ask her whether she’s more invested in character development or being able to curl a little into Nayeon’s shoulder under their shared blanket, Sana will probably opt to change the subject as quickly as possible.

-

In the rush of beginning the rest of their lives, more time passes. Before they know it, Mina has been in Tokyo for almost four years, and Nayeon has been nestled firmly in Sana’s heart for twice as long.

Friday is coming up, and the office is planning a birthday party for one of Sana and Jihyo’s colleagues. It’s someone she hardly knows, and she and Jihyo have already complained to each other and to any of their friends who will listen that the mandatory attendance and obligatory gift that accompanies it shouldn’t have been the human resource department’s vision of optimal team bonding. 

But here Sana is anyway, in a candle store trying to find an acceptable present; Jihyo is elsewhere in the mall, having decided to try her luck at browsing the various chocolate stores. As Sana scans yet another one of the shelves lining the seemingly infinite walls of the store, her vision begins to glaze over, blurring the various names and their sometimes nonsensical colors: Black Cherry, Baby Powder, Garden Sweet Pea, Saryeoni Forest --

Suddenly, the urge to buy Nayeon a candle hits her more squarely in the face than any of the dozens of fragrances currently mixing in her nostrils.

Sana doesn’t even know if Nayeon uses candles; she certainly doesn’t remember having seen any whenever she’s been over. But her hand hovers over the grapefruit scented one, anyway. She thinks for just a second more before she picks it up and drops it into her basket. A quick check of her phone reveals that she’s already idled for twenty minutes, so she ends up grabbing a random selection from the “customer favorites” stand by the entrance because it already comes boxed and sealed with a silvery ribbon. 

“Hey,” says Jihyo when Sana jogs up to meet her at the exit to the mall complex. “Did you find anything?”

Sana nods as she raises the bag from the candle store. “Did you?”

Jihyo gives the flashily wrapped box in her hands a light shake. “If she ends up being allergic to any of these, this is going to be even more awkward than it already is.”

Sana giggles, and then follows Jihyo outside to her car. On a whim, Sana pulls out her phone and shoots Nayeon a text wondering if she’s free, and almost jumps at the immediate reply. She tucks her phone back into her bag before sliding into the passenger seat, buckling her seat belt as she says, “Actually, could you drop me off at Nayeon’s? It’ll be closer for you, anyway.”

“Sure,” Jihyo says, eyebrows raised. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Sana freezes, but it’s not long enough for Jihyo to notice; she’s used to covering for herself by now. “What do you mean? I can’t be happy around you?”

“That’s -- that’s not what I meant.” Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Whatever. If you’re the one keeping her entertained, at least that means the rest of us don’t have to.”

“You love her, admit it,” Sana teases as Jihyo reverses out of the parking spot, because saying it about Jihyo is easy. 

“Not more than you do,” Jihyo shoots back. And if she notices the truth so boldly shocking Sana into silence, she makes no further comment.

Nayeon answers the door before Sana can finish ringing the bell. “Hey, come in,” she says, and Sana sinks into her open arms with a familiarity that only the worst habits can create. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Nothing really,” Sana admits as she toes off her shoes and follows Nayeon further into the apartment. “Jihyo and I were shopping for presents for that coworker, and then I found this.” She takes out the candle from her bag, presenting it with both hands when Nayeon turns to face her. 

“Oh!” Nayeon’s smile isn’t as wide as it gets whenever she’s playing with random puppies they pass on the sidewalk, but her eyes still light up exactly the same, so Sana counts it as a victory. “You didn’t have to.”

“I just saw it and thought of you,” says Sana, leaning into the new hug Nayeon pulls her into before extracting herself to claim her favorite spot on the couch. “I actually don’t know if you use candles, but you can put it somewhere that looks nice, at least.”

Nayeon hums as she turns the candle over in her hands. She stops as she reads the scent on the label. “Grapefruit?”

Her brow is furrowed now, and Sana’s heart gives a panicked little jump. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no, nothing.” Nayeon holds the candle for another second, weighing it in her palm, before setting it on the side table and taking her seat next to Sana. After a moment, she says, “I thought you didn’t like grapefruit.”

Sana has to pause, because she realizes that Nayeon is right. And it’s not like Nayeon is normally unobservant about these sorts of things, but the hesitance in her voice when she’d said it -- as if she doesn’t quite understand why Sana would give Nayeon something Sana herself dislikes -- is new. 

The persistent, rapid beat in Sana’s chest is already pushing her to smooth away the worry lines in Nayeon’s forehead. But with a hard swallow that she desperately hopes Nayeon doesn’t notice, she forces down the urge. Because succumbing would be admitting that the first thing she’d thought of upon seeing the candle hadn’t been its questionable scent, but its color and how it reminds her of Nayeon back in university -- when the sun had burned open a window into Sana’s soul that she can no longer close.

Instead, Sana reaches out to gather Nayeon’s hair -- light brown, now -- and pulls it away so she can rest her head on Nayeon’s shoulder. Nayeon lifts a hand to poke her cheek, and she cuddles closer. “But do you, unnie?” 

Nayeon hums. “Do I what?”

“Like grapefruit,” says Sana.

Nayeon hums again, but the tune is unfamiliar. Sana is left to decipher her answer while Nayeon picks up the remote and flicks through the channels. The show she settles on is a rerun, but it’s a sufficient enough distraction to pull Sana away from this latest puzzle.

She doesn’t notice until the episode is over that Nayeon’s arm has slipped behind her shoulders, and their legs are thrown on top of each other in some inexplicable tangle they’ll have to work out later.

-

Sana doesn’t lurk on Instagram often, but she happens to be skimming through stories when she comes across Nayeon’s. 

The photo by itself doesn’t stand out much: an artful angle of Nayeon’s coffee mug, a cute heart outlined in the milky foam on top, and the dark varnished wood of a typical coffee shop table just out of focus enough to blur into the background. It’s the caption that catches Sana’s eye, slanted and typed out in white block characters:

_Sana-yah, I drank this too_

Sana pauses, thumb pressed against her screen so that she has more time to fully register what she’s seeing. She remembers getting that same coffee when she’d met with Nayeon almost two weeks ago, when they’d both managed to negotiate an extended lunch break at their respective workplaces. But instinctively noting what happens every time the two of them are together -- where they go, what they giggle about, how Nayeon’s laugh sounds that day -- is something that only Sana does.

_I thought you didn’t like grapefruit._

“Sana?”

She looks up at her laptop screen, where Mina’s face is peering back at her. “Oh, sorry. I got distracted.”

“I saw,” Mina says lightly, lips quirking as she sits back again. “What distracted you?”

Sana squints at Nayeon’s story for another second, and then finally releases her thumb. She returns her attention to Mina. “Nayeon-unnie posted a story on Instagram and addressed it to me.”

Mina hums, and her microphone manages to pick up every click of the buttons on her Switch as she mines or fishes or talks to villagers -- Sana has long stopped trying to comprehend this latest gaming fad. “I’m pretty sure she tags you in a story almost every week. Don’t you two still watch dramas together?”

“We do,” says Sana, “but this was about coffee. And she wrote my name, but didn’t tag me in it.” Which might very well be something Nayeon would do if she is sharing a secret concerning Sana -- half hoping that Sana will never stumble across it, while her other half wishes for nothing more. 

Mina looks up. “Is that a strange thing to do?”

Sana can barely form words, too busy trying to keep her head from swimming. Every night she’s spent at Nayeon’s apartment over the years now washes over her with the rhythmic relentlessness of the ocean and its every towering wave: how Nayeon is always the first to pull Sana in and never the first to pull away again; how Nayeon always lets Sana choose the snacks even though she’s the pickier eater; how whenever Sana is doing her utmost to focus on understanding the events unfolding on the screen in front of them, she sometimes gets the feeling that Nayeon might be looking in her direction instead of at the television. 

_Our schedules seem to match up the best. I’m glad._

“Mina,” Sana says with incredulous finality. “I think she likes me.”

“Sana,” says Mina -- and since they’ve been speaking in their mother tongue, she’s able to sound more affectionate than Korean honorifics would ever allow. “Of course she does.”

“I don’t mean as a friend.” Sana leans in, and in her periphery catches her own face taking up the entire small window in the bottom right corner of her screen. “She likes me.”

Mina sets her Switch down and looks directly at Sana -- which means her gaze is actually directed a little to the left, but Sana understands. “Because she mentioned you in a story but didn’t tag you?”

It does sound a little silly now that Mina is the one repeating the catalyst to her train of thought, but Sana resolves not to be swayed. “It’s not just that; she’s been acting weirdly these last couple of weeks. Or months -- maybe longer.”

“Weirdly, how?”

Sana sinks back in her chair, thinking about how Nayeon has always looked at her in a way that makes her heart glow. But lately, the glimmer in Nayeon’s eyes is somehow brighter and also softer, and her fingertips have been lingering a split moment longer each time they pull away from each other again. “It’s hard to explain.”

Mina doesn’t reply, but Sana can tell that she’s just processing. “Well,” she finally says, “I don’t really know what’s going on between you two.” Her face falls slightly as she admits this, and Sana’s heart chips a little at its edges; Mina never speaks of it, but Sana knows that she holds many regrets after choosing to move to Tokyo. 

“I don’t really know, either,” Sana says honestly. And then adds, “I never thought that she could like me,” when what she really means is, _I never thought that she could like me, too._

Mina only tilts her head, but Sana knows that she catches it -- the rest of the sentence that Sana chose to cut off to avoid revealing the inevitabilities that she has been wrestling with for almost a decade, now. 

“Mina.” Sana draws her legs up and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “What should I do?”

Mina’s smile is tender, even when filtered through the standard definition of Sana’s laptop screen. “I think you would know better than I would, right?”

Sana sighs, bringing up a hand to run through her hair. “I know.” She glances at the time, realizing that they both have work tomorrow. “I guess it’s getting late. But you said you had something to run by me?”

“Oh.” Mina hums for a second, and then her smile curves her eyes. “It’s alright, I think I’ve made up my mind. I’ll tell you all about it soon, okay?”

On any other occasion, Sana would have immediately dedicated herself to needling Mina to death. Tonight, however, they both have early mornings, and Sana’s thoughts are still wrapped indistinguishably around Nayeon. So she settles for sticking out her tongue. “Fine, be a spoilsport.”

“It’ll be soon,” Mina assures her. “Let me know how it goes with Nayeon-unnie.”

“I will,” says Sana. She doesn’t mean to be distracted, but doesn’t realize until almost half a minute later that Mina has been replaced with a pop-up window informing her that the call has ended.

Sana is so preoccupied at work the next day that Jihyo is able to send no fewer than five paper airplanes flying over their shared cubicle wall, without retaliation, to land at various points on her desk; the last one almost pokes her in the eye. Sana doesn’t think twice about brushing off Jihyo’s apologies -- because she’s scheduled to go over to Nayeon’s that evening, and her hammering heart refuses to relent from its machine gun barrage against her ribcage.

When Nayeon answers the door, Sana thinks she’s able to play it off coolly enough -- although Nayeon does look confused when Sana slips past her hug in favor of claiming the first spot on the couch. But Sana makes up for it later by pressing up against Nayeon’s side as usual while they both reach into the popcorn bowl; Sana wonders if Nayeon can feel her anxiety through their shirt sleeves, her skin surely hot to the touch from all of the butterflies whipping up a tremendous storm in her stomach. 

The episode on Nayeon’s channel of choice today is a useless filler, and Sana is still having some trouble remembering the names of the main characters. Which is just as well, because she spends about half of the time gathering her courage and steadying her breathing, before she plucks the popcorn bowl out of Nayeon’s lap and shifts to face her. “Unnie.”

Nayeon turns in the middle of wiping her fingers on the crumpled napkin beside her. “Yeah?”

They’ve been this close plenty of times before: shoulder to shoulder, and now barely a whisper of space in between to act as neutral ground. But the glare from the television screen glints off of Nayeon’s eyes, obscuring Sana’s reflection in them. Sana panics, because at this moment, she no longer has any hint as to what Nayeon might be thinking of.

“Sana,” Nayeon says, her voice so quiet that Sana has probably imagined hearing anything at all. But then Nayeon’s lips part once more, and Sana watches with the full intent of memorizing every minute movement. “Can I kiss you?”

In her periphery, the television screen brightens as Sana leans forward. Her eyes shut as soon as her mouth meets Nayeon’s, but the backs of her eyelids burst into an electric wash of white. Because Nayeon is soft and beautiful and the only thing that Sana can process. Her skin smells faintly of her perfume, and the scent of her shampoo still clings to the halo of air around her. The heat of her palm pressed urgently against Sana’s knee amplifies the warmth of her lips, her grip tightening as soon as Sana unconsciously shifts --

Sana gasps, not registering until now that all of her breath has been stolen. 

She finally opens her eyes, pulling away as much as she dares. The distance she’s put back between them is barely measurable; but it’s enough for Sana to take in the dark flush in Nayeon’s cheeks, and the shine in her eyes from something the light of the drama’s ending sequence on screen would never be able to project.

It hits Sana, then, how often she’s dreamed of this. A giggle escapes her before she can stop it, and Nayeon tilts her head even as she also smiles. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Sana, just barely over the blare of the commercial that threatens to break the spell the two of them have cast together. Nayeon reaches for the remote, but Sana’s hand intercepts hers just in time. Sana laces their fingers together instead, tugging Nayeon forward once more. “Can we do that again?”

Nayeon laughs, until Sana cuts her off. The program eventually switches to the evening news, but neither of them pay any attention to the rest of the world until much, much later.

-

They keep it simple. It’s a delicate thing, after all: a fine glass bird that could shatter if they’re not careful, or take flight if either of them attempts to ignore her view of the other refracting into something more.

Even after gluing herself to Nayeon since the day they had met in high school, it’s only many years later that Sana begins to learn the parts of Nayeon that she selfishly hopes will never be revealed to anyone else. 

She’s always known that Nayeon is just as likely to cackle obnoxiously as she is to whine and pout, but now Sana latches onto the glowing, affectionate edges of each indignant sound Nayeon makes whenever their teeth accidentally click against each other, or when one of them loses her balance and elbows end up jammed into stomachs or hitting against knees. 

Sana now knows that Nayeon’s firm and fierce presence extends to her hold on Sana’s hips as she pulls her close before backing them against the kitchen counter, because sometimes the impatience Sana has always inexplicably adored also applies to the time it would take for them to move from microwaving the popcorn to sitting on the couch.

Sana also comes to know the other ways in which Nayeon can melt, sinking into her touch as if Sana is all she’s ever longed for and chasing after Sana’s lips like there’s nothing else she’d rather savor. This is when Sana finally comprehends the entirety of the strength required to move the earth, the adrenaline flooding rampant through her veins only outweighed by the devotion she has to the one person who has been waiting to give her everything.

Sana often wonders, now, if she has been the center of Nayeon’s cosmos for just as long as Nayeon has been the center of Sana’s.

They haven’t gotten around to talking about it yet, this glassy bird that has begun to glint with a diamond sheen. But as the days pass into weeks, the resolution that this could be something more than permanent somewhat steadies the rapid pitter-patter Nayeon is always prone to start in Sana’s chest. 

Sana doesn’t notice the candle on Nayeon’s nightstand until she wakes up one morning, a few months later. Granted, if she ends up spending the night -- a development Momo has naively taken into stride without realizing the impressively long-reaching implications of The Noodle Incident -- Sana is usually too sleepy, or too occupied tugging off Nayeon’s sweatpants, to take in much else besides Nayeon’s queen-sized bed and Nayeon fitting so naturally into the pockets of space that Sana would find too empty otherwise.

“If you’re going to think this loudly,” Nayeon grumbles into her neck, “do it later.”

Sana laughs, trying to turn her head but meeting immediate resistance. She’s lying on her back, but Nayeon is rolled over with her leg hooked over Sana’s waist, one arm slung over Sana’s chest so her finger can trace sleepy circles onto the bare skin of the opposite shoulder. “It’s not my fault you’re like a koala in your sleep,” Sana says instead, making an exaggerated effort of nudging Nayeon’s leg off enough so that she can also turn onto her side. 

Nayeon shifts her hold with minimal complaint, easily sliding her arm down to drape it around Sana’s waist. “It’s not my fault that you make me clingy.”

Sana drops the argument, because she’s long past the point of pretending to put up a fight. Instead, she reaches up to brush the hair out of Nayeon’s face, running the pad of her thumb against the mole by Nayeon’s eyebrow as she does so. “I didn’t know that you kept the grapefruit candle.”

“Of course I did.” Nayeon’s eyes finally flicker open, only to squint with mock menace. “Even though you gave me something that you literally hate.”

Sana giggles. “I forgot I did, alright? And sometimes grapefruit does smell okay.”

Nayeon huffs, her stern expression making a convincing cover for the movement of her hand as it searches for Sana’s under the comforter. “How do you just forget something like that? You refused to sit next to Jeongyeon one entire term of high school, third year, because she was using a grapefruit lotion.”

Sana wrinkles her nose, but it’s mostly to cover the sudden fluster she’s found herself in. Even after months of this, she still isn’t able to fully comprehend the fact that the two of them have been drowning in each other for so long -- it’s a miracle, really, that they’re able to keep each other afloat now. Nayeon raises her eyebrows, and Sana realizes that she still has to say something. She clears her throat with as much faux importance as she can. “It’s to remind you that even if you’re annoying sometimes, unnie, I’d still pick you out of all the other candles in the entire world.”

“Hey!” Nayeon shoves Sana with her free hand. Sana doesn’t get very far, of course, on account of Nayeon’s other hand keeping her close.

Sana laughs again, but offers nothing more than the idea of getting up so they can brush away their morning breath and kiss over homebrewed coffee. Nayeon groans, but then rolls out of bed fast enough to almost miss landing on her feet. Sana sits herself up, leaning back on her hands as she watches Nayeon pull on a shirt and search for another.

Nayeon has a habit of leaving the blinds open, even at night -- her apartment is on the ninth story, and the window doesn’t give a glimpse into much besides the distant skyline. But it does let the late morning sun stream in like a spotlight, and Sana watches the shine catch on Nayeon’s hair as she straightens and flips it over one shoulder. 

Sana doesn’t realize she’s staring until Nayeon’s university t-shirt hits her in the face. She yelps, jerking away as Nayeon cackles from across the room. 

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” Nayeon says before she steps into the hall. 

Sana scrambles out of bed; they do, in fact, have all day, and she definitely doesn’t plan on spending much of it alone. She slips into the bathroom, bumping Nayeon’s hip with hers as she reaches for the extra toothbrush. “You drool in your sleep,” she says belatedly, flinching away with a laugh when Nayeon feints spitting toothpaste foam in her eyes.

It’s in this moment that Sana wonders if either of them has actually grown at all. Because the tune that her heart soars to daily has always been to the beat of Nayeon’s laughing in tandem: two relentless rhythms attempting to express all of the somethings between them.

Nayeon’s lips leave a minty tingle on Sana’s cheek, but the chill does little to ward off the itch curling Sana’s toes. Then Nayeon beams at her, and Sana is reminded again of cherry-red hair and foam-white hearts and a grapefruit candle that will remain on Nayeon’s nightstand, unlit.

Sana’s mouth is still covered in toothpaste when she sneaks a quick kiss onto Nayeon’s chin. She laughs as Nayeon wipes it off with an appropriately disgusted expression -- and knows that even if they eventually find themselves ready for a definition, no dictionary will ever be able to properly explain all of the meanings that they have become.

**Author's Note:**

> follow fi @skyclectic on twitter and ao3; she's a wonderful person and an amazing writer!!


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